


Crazy Scary Beautiful

by Elpie (Horribibble)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - Retail, Art School, College Student Stiles, Fluff, Hardware Store, M/M, Misunderstandings, Prompt Fic, art student Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3464789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horribibble/pseuds/Elpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guy just came in with a duffle bag full of knives and plopped them down on the counter, easy as you please. He’s standing there with a perfectly cheerful look on his face, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. </p><p>-</p><p>In which Stiles Stilinski is probably a serial killer, but Derek falls in love anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crazy Scary Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> This is an exceedingly short fic, so it probably feels really rushed.  
> I am so sorry.
> 
> It was prompted by Shay, and the post it's based on can be found [here.](http://shaycat22.tumblr.com/post/112461562411/aaronbsam-im-just-imagining-the-hardware-store)
> 
> The original art piece, which does not seem to be sourced, is by Farhad Moshiri. [Gaze upon his work and be amazed here.](http://www.wetheurban.com/post/99792559489/art-knife-typography-by-farhad-moshiri-iranian)
> 
> Thanks to [Besin](http://besieged-infection.tumblr.com/) for volunteering some awkward work stories for the cause. People are weird.
> 
> Art students are weirder.

Derek isn't even supposed to be working today. He'd meant to spend his free time getting in a nice, brisk run, maybe meet up with Boyd to shoot some hoops, maybe laze around his apartment in his shorts reading a book.

He definitely hadn't intended to spend the day covering his younger sister's shift at Hale Hardware, answering the usual asinine questions like, "What's the difference between an axe and a hatchet?" and "Would bike tires be in automotive?"

Those, he's used to.

But recently, the questions have been getting even more disconcerting.

An hour ago, a woman with pastel purple hair asked him where the bone saws were. A few hours before that, someone asked him if plaster was body safe while blatantly eying his crotch.

But this?

This is a completely different level.

Derek is _worried._

There's a pile of knives on the counter, all different shapes and colors with no particular trend towards purpose. Just...a _shitload_ of knives. Dumped on the counter.

They're not even _from this store._ The guy just came in with a _duffle bag full of knives_ and plopped them down on the counter, easy as you please. He's standing there with a perfectly cheerful look on his face, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. He smiles shyly at Derek and asks, "I was wondering about your sharpening services, because I am _super_ desperate. I've been to every Goodwill in the city, I think, and some of these are just not gonna work."

This guy has been going from thrift store to thrift store buying knives. Derek doesn't doubt it for a second. This is _terrifying._ Is he obligated to call the cops? He thinks he might be obligated to call the cops.

"Right, look, I don't think we'd be able to sharpen this many knives overnight. It wouldn't be cheap, either. You'd be better off with a home sharpener."

"Oh, for real? That sounds great, actually. I mean, the rest of them seemed like they'd get good depth, but you never know, right?"

 _Good depth_. This has to be a joke. Did Cora _hire_ all of these people?

"...Right. Uh… I can grab one for you."

"I should probably pick up some plaster, too. Just in case, you know?" The guy actually _winks_ at him, like he's talking about picking up a pack of condoms. Derek _wishes_ the guy was talking about a pack of condoms. He's too _cute_ to be a deranged spree killer.

But he can't figure out how to handle the situation, so he goes to grab the sharpener and rings the guy up while he carefully arranges the knives back in the duffle. The guy settles the tab and lingers for a second, chewing on his plush bottom lip.

"So, uh… I'll see you later, Derek."

Derek sucks in air so fast he starts coughing, and the guy reaches over to pound him on the back. "Sorry, sorry." He sputters, "I was just looking at your name tag. Oh my gosh I'm a creep. Sorry."

Just like that, he's bolting for the front door, fingers wrapped tight around the plastic THANK YOU bag handles, a duffle full of knives bouncing against his hip.

-

Throughout the course of the week, the bizarre customers continue popping in and out of the store. It's like there's a murder convention in town.

At one point, Derek tells a curious 20-something he'll be right back and hides in the break room to call his mom. The woman wanted to know how long cement would take to set with _something moving in it._

But when Derek finally comes back out, the knife guy is there, chatting with cement girl. He makes a few awkward gestures with his hands and they both seem to have a _eureka_ moment, because the girl kisses him on the cheek and goes off to collect her supplies with a spring in her step.

"Hey." Knife guy smiles when he spots Derek, "So I forgot to pick up that plaster, and it turns out I really need it."

"You do?" Derek frowns.

"Clumsy, y'know?"

Derek does not know. Derek does not _want_ to know. Derek just… kind of wants to take the guy in his arms and convince him that murder is nowhere _near_ as rewarding as marathon sex and Thai food from the little place down the street.

There has to be something wrong with him.

"Clumsy, he says." Derek snorts, then turns to grab a container of the stuff along with a plastic putty knife. He rings him up while the guy bounces in place, just like before. "Just don't cut yourself, okay?"

Knife guy smiles, and Derek wonders if it'd be worth it.

-

"So, um, my putty knife is caked in dried plaster and Hercules himself could not get that shit off."

"Sorry, the plastic ones tend to do that. Did you want a metal one?" It's three days later, and Derek fears nothing. There is no question in the world that could possibly phase him after the guy that told him how beautiful his face would be 'cast in play-doh and set on fire'.

His give a shit meter is apparently even more broken than Boyd's. Erica thinks it's funny, but she'll clam up when they find him covered in plaster and feathers in the reservoir or some shit. At least this particular lunatic is attractive and friendly.

"That'd probably be cool. I mean, I could do that. Yeah. My name's Stiles, by the way."

"Stiles,” Derek repeats. "That's a cool name."

"It's more of a nickname. I took a lot of shit for it in high school, but now it's paying off. 'Edgy' and all that crap." Stiles shuffles off to grab the metal putty knife and comes back up with a crinkled coupon in hand.

Derek scans the knife, then the coupon, and frowns. "It's $9.89. You need to spend $10 for the discount."

"That's cool." Stiles smiles, then grabs a Reese's cup from the impulse buy display on the counter. Derek rings that up, too, and puts his purchases into a bag.

Again, Stiles lingers. "I appreciate it, you know. You helping me and stuff. You probably don't get thanked enough."

"I get by." Derek shrugs. "Some days are weirder than others."

Stiles shakes his head, smiling crookedly as he reaches into the bag. For a second, Derek wonders if he'll come at him with the plaster knife, but… he doesn't think so.

Instead, Stiles produces the candy and places it on the counter, sliding it across to Derek. "For you." And then he's skittering out of the store like he's left a peanut butter chocolate bomb behind him.

Derek eats one cup and saves the other for later. He's got a crush on a whack job with more knives than Derek has common sense.

-

Stiles starts popping in now and then after that, flirting awkwardly and fielding some of the bizarre questions from the flood of 'alternative' customers as if they're _completely normal._

After hearing him spitball some truly mind-bending possibilities for plastic sheeting, Derek begins to tune it out. Stiles is nutty, but he hasn't actually tried to stab Derek yet, and he's actually got some pretty interesting things to talk about.

Normal things, like family and books and music, odd facts and movie trivia. He bounces from subject to subject, gesticulating wildly, and Derek actually finds himself enjoying his shifts whenever the guy shows up.

Eventually, he has to ask. "So how'd your… uh… _thing_ go? With the knives? Is the sharpener working?"

"Oh, yeah. It's going great. I'm almost done, now, and the show's in a week. Are you going?"

"'Show'?" Derek asks.

"Yeah, the Class Showcase! It's supposed to be this big thing, a lot of people are--" Stiles' jaw drops as if Derek has exposed some kind of stunning secret. " _You didn't know there was an art show coming up?_ "

An _art show_? Stiles was buying all of those knives for a fucking _art show?_

Derek feels like banging his head against the counter. " _No._ Holy _shit_ , is that why people have been asking all these weird ass questions?!"

" _Holy crap,_ Derek, I must have sounded like a _serial killer_. How did you not call the cops?! And how did you not _know_? You're, like, right down the street from the art school!"

"It's a _family business_ , and I'm _taking a gap year_. I'm not usually on shift when you people come in." He might be frustrated, but he's also _insanely relieved_ that these people aren't completely insane. (Just partially.)

Stiles laughs so hard he starts to cry a little. "I feel so sorry for you oh my gosh. I asked all those questions about knives and stabbing depth, oh wow."

"Someone asked for body-safe clay. She wanted to know if it would 'like, get stuck and stuff'."

"Oh, yeah. That was Claire. She's making bronze..." He coughs, flicking his eyes downward.

"Are you serious?"

"You'd honestly be surprised how many people are making dick and vag sculptures this year. It's getting kind of tired as a concept."

"See, now I'd pay to see that."

"You don't have to. The show is free for students and guests."

"Am I a guest?"

"I was kind of hoping you'd be my plus one."

-

Stiles' installment in the gallery is a wall piece made up of a truly impressive number of knives impaled in the wall, spelling out a story in elegant script.

The first reads, _So there's this boy._

The next reads, _I want to touch his hand._

And the last reads, _I’m a little scared._

Derek reaches into the space between them and tangles their fingers together. He mumbles, "You’re the scariest person here. Did you know that?"

Stiles beams like a madman. (Really, he kind of is.)

 

 


End file.
